


The Torch I Bear

by Claire



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: M/M, Movie Spoilers, Nicky riding Joe like a pony, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25670722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: In which Nicky and Joe reconnect with each other after the movie, and Nicky has many creative ways in which he wants to kill Booker
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 45
Kudos: 760





	The Torch I Bear

**Author's Note:**

> Title shamelessly stolen from 'Walk Through The Fire' from Buffy's Once More With Feeling.

Nicky can't stop the moan from leaving his lips as the hot water hits him. He'd be embarrassed about it, but it's been a long day and he's having to wash bits of his own brain out of his hair, so he figures he deserves a pass.

They'd driven for hours before they'd finally got to the safehouse Andy has. They've no idea if Copley linked the house to Andy and, if he did, whether he told Merrick about it. But they were all too tired and too hungry to go any further, trusting that having their boss take a dive out of his penthouse window and ending up like a dead pretzel will have had any of Merrick's team that were left too busy trying to cover their own asses to care about following them.

The adrenaline had worn off 30 minutes after Nicky had got in the car, and the only reason he hadn't fallen asleep was that Joe had claimed the passenger seat and Nicky was fucked if he was going to sleep on Booker's shoulder. Booker may have fought with them in the end, but the bastard had still betrayed them to Merrick and two things Nicky prides himself on are his long memory and his absolute ability to hold a grudge.

The water only starts running clean when he's on his fifth pass with the shampoo and has the 27th method of killing Booker running through his mind. (And he really should mention the 11th and 19th methods to Joe, as he thinks his husband would especially appreciate both of them, even if it was a bitch to get a trebuchet without having to answer a lot of inconvenient questions nowadays.)

Stepping under the spray and tilting his head back, he lets the water run over him, carrying the last of the day away, swirling it down the drain with the final bits of soap and shampoo and finally letting Nicky feel like himself again. Turning the shower off and leaving the steam filled room behind him, he doesn't bother covering himself as pads through into the bedroom, roughly towelling his hair.

"Well, now, that's a sight I like to see."

Joe is sitting on the bed, his back against the headboard and the slightly wet spots on the clean t-shirt he's wearing showing that he must have showered quickly in the main bathroom while Nicky was in the en suite plotting Booker's murder multiple times over.

Nicky smiles at him, slow and lazy, as he drops the towel to the floor, cocking his hip slightly. He runs his fingers through his still damp hair, his tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip. The smile widens at the heated gaze Joe gives him and Nicky feels his cock twitch. Because even after all these years, _especially_ after all these years, Joe can enflame him with nothing more than a look.

"Come here." The words are soft, quiet, but carry a steel within them that Nicky is helpless to ignore.

He crosses the room in four easy steps, taking the hand that Joe is reaching out with as he climbs onto the bed, straddling Joe's thighs.

Lifting their joined hands to his lips, Joe kisses the inside of Nicky's wrist, as he lifts his other hand to Nicky's face, fingers brushing over his cheek before cupping the back of Nicky's head.

Nicky doesn't miss what Joe is doing, that he's running his fingers softly over exactly where Nicky had been shot earlier. "I'm fine," he says.

Joe meets his eyes and there's a beat of silence that says more words than any language ever could, a moment that carries centuries of love within it. And they've been here before, too often. Held in that moment where all that's needed is the reassurance that they're both here, both whole. That they walked through fire and came out unscathed.

"I'm fine," Nicky says again.

Joe doesn't respond for a moment, and then he drags his gaze over Nicky's body in an exaggerated pass, a leer on his lips. "Yes, you are, my love. You are _damn_ fine."

Nicky's laugh comes out in a huff of breath that segues into a moan as Joe unlinks their hands, moving away with a caress to Nicky's fingers to wrap around Nicky's cock. Nicky's been half-hard since he straddled Joe, the closeness and heat of his husband's body eliciting the reaction it normally does.

There's a shift in the air, the bubble of quiet surrounding them becoming sharper, cleaner. It's tinged with an anticipation Nicky can almost taste. The hand on the back of his head shifts, fingers tangling into his hair as Joe tugs Nicky's head back, a shiver of pleasure running down Nicky's spine at the sharp jolt of pain.

"Beautiful," Joe murmurs, and Nicky doesn't even realise he's closed his eyes until Joe's voice has him opening them, has him tugging out of Joe's grip on his hair so he can look at the man under him.

"I want to ride you." Because even after today, even though there's still part of Nicky that wants to sleep for the next week, there's more of him that needs the closeness, that needs Joe inside him, around him.

Joe nods towards the bedside cabinet, and Nicky lifts himself up and leans over to it, pulling open the drawer and hoping that the lube they left in there last time is still good. He can feel Joe move under him, taking the opportunity to slide the underwear he's wearing under his ass and down his thighs, so he can kick them off his legs.

His fingers closing on the tube he can feel in the open drawer, Nicky pulls his hand back, settling back on to Joe's thighs and brandishing his prize. "Do you want to, or should I?" Because sometimes Joe likes to watch Nicky slide fingers into his own body and open himself up for Joe's cock, and sometimes he likes to do it himself, taking the time to carve himself a space in Nicky's body before pushing inside.

Joe answers by holding out two fingers, grinning at Nicky as he wiggles them.

Twisting the cap of the tube off with his teeth and spitting it onto the floor, Nicky squeezes lube onto Joe's fingers. The viscous gel is a little thicker than it should be, most likely due to the amount of time the opened tube has been sitting in there, waiting for them to come back to this house.

Tapping on Nicky's ass with the hand that isn't covered in slick, Joe urges him to lift up slightly and move closer. Dropping the tube he's still holding over the side of the bed, Nicky does so, resting his hands on Joe's shoulders once he's close enough for what they want.

Joe's hand wraps around Nicky's hip as his other moves under him, between his legs. A swipe of slick is left on Nicky's balls as Joe's fingers move back before finally pressing against his asshole. Biting his lower lip, Nicky lets the whimper out as Joe's fingers rub the entrance to his body without dipping inside.

"Joe--" It's not a whine, it's _not_. Even if Nicky is pressing back, trying to get Joe to slide his fingers inside. Because Nicky wants this, wants Joe as close and as deep as he can be. Because there hasn't been a day, a minute, a second, in the past millennium where he hasn't looked at Joe and thought _Mine_. There hasn't been a moment since Joe took residence in Nicky's heart that he hasn't wanted this man with every fibre of his being. "Joe, please--"

And then finally, _finally_ , Joe pushes his fingers into Nicky. They sink inside easily, because if Nicky's body knows how to do anything, it's how to do this. How to accept Joe inside until he fills every space Nicky has. "Yes--"

The stretching is quick and perfunctory, because their bodies know each other too well to need anything more. Other times, other nights, Joe may take longer, hold his fingers inside Nicky until Nicky is squirming and begging, need and want and desire all spilling out of him as he pleads with Joe to fuck him. But not now, not tonight. Tonight isn't about anything other than the closeness, about the two of them still being here, still being together. 

The fingers leave his body and Nicky finds himself moving back to chase them, only realising what he's doing when Joe laughs softly.

"What do you need, Nicky?" Joe asks, his voice quiet, like he doesn't want to disturb the air that's settled around them, cloaking them and blocking out the rest of the world.

"You," Nicky replies, as he watches Joe run his fingers over his hard cock, slicking himself with the rest of the lube. "Only you."

"You have me." Joe grips the base of his cock, his eyes never once moving from Nicky's as he urges him forward and down.

The heat of Joe's cock presses against the entrance to Nicky's body and there's a moment, just a single moment, that holds itself in time, and Nicky thinks that if he could have nothing else but this, nothing else but Joe, then he would take it happily.

Shifting slightly, Nicky bites his lip as his body opens and Joe sinks inside. He presses down on the hardness until he can't go any further, presses down until Joe is fully in him, solid and _there_.

"Nicolo--" His name is barely a whisper on Joe's lips as Joe's hands move to frame Nicky's face, Joe holding him like he's the most precious thing.

And this is the reason Nicky can get through each day, no matter what fate seems determined to throw at them. He can take every ounce of pain so long as this man is by his side. Nicky's moving before he even thinks about it, crashing their lips together. He nips at Joe's lower lip with his teeth, swallowing the groan that comes from Joe as he urges his husband to open up. There's a hint of mint in Joe's mouth, covering the still lingering taste of the half drunk cup of coffee Joe had abandoned in the kitchen when he'd decided showering and sleep were more important than caffeine. "Yusuf, my Yusuf--" he murmurs, resting his forehead against Joe's as he breaks the kiss.

"I'm here, Nicky." Joe's words are punctuated by a soft thrust of his hips, the head of his cock rubbing against Nicky's prostate.

Nicky groans at the movement, shudders of pleasure running through him as his fingers dig into Joe's shoulders, hard enough to leave bruises that will fade within seconds. Nicky closes his eyes for a moment, opening them again when Joe's hands move away from his face, fingers trailing down his arms until they can wrap around his wrists. He pulls his hands back slightly, sliding them through the loose tunnel of Joe's fingers until they are palm to palm, interlocking their fingers together and dropping their joined hands to the pillow on either side of Joe's head.

There's a heat in Joe's eyes, and Nicky revels in it, revels in the way his husband's gaze darkens as he rolls his hips, clenching down on the cock inside him.

"Yes--" Joe's fingers tighten on his, nails digging into Nicky's knuckles, and the reaction spurs him on.

The last time he rode Joe (the day before Andy had got to Marrakesh; barely days before, and yet it seems like years away now), it was frantic, frenetic. The humid heat of the air coming in through the open window had surrounded them, and between the sweat and the other bodily fluids they'd ended up covered in, they'd both needed showers afterwards. But not this time. They may be healed, but Nicky knows Joe's body as well as he knows his own, and there's a bone-deep weariness in both of them that's dictating the languid pace that's been set.

A slight hunch of Joe's hips accompanies each of Nicky's movements, with Joe pushing up, like he's trying to bury himself even deeper into Nicky's body. There's a lazy ease to the way Nicky is barely lifting himself up, rocking on Joe's cock instead. His own cock is hard, precome slowly dripping from the head to land on Joe's stomach, where his t-shirt has ridden up to reveal a tantalising strip of skin that Nicky wants to bend down and lick.

Nicky's cock twitches at the thought of dragging his tongue over Joe's skin, and he tries to pull one of his hands away from where it's still linked with Joe's, wanting to wrap it around his cock and jerk himself until he's coming, marking the man under him indelibly as his. But Joe's fingers tighten as soon as Nicky tries to unlink their hands.

"On my cock, Nicky," Joe says softly, the roughness of his voice rolling over Nicky like spiced honey. "I want to see you take your pleasure from only me."

Nicky nods, because Joe has _always_ been the one Nicky has taken his pleasure from. Even on those nights when they were parted, when Nicky wrapped his fingers around his cock and took himself in hard, sure strokes, it was always Joe on his mind, the memory of Joe's eyes, lips, body. Of the way Joe would lean close and murmur words into Nicky's ear, his breath ghosting over Nicky's skin as he spoke of opening Nicky up and sliding inside, how he'd murmur words of how Nicky's body was the only home Joe ever needed.

Shifting his knees slightly and arching his back, Nicky moves, lifting himself until he feels the burst of pleasure as the head of Joe's cock slides over his prostate again, his body gripping Joe tighter in response.

"Fuck, Nicky--" The words break in the middle, and Nicky just grins.

"Only you, Joe," he says, needing only the smallest movements to focus Joe's cock exactly where he needs it. The pleasure thrumming through his body with each brush over his prostate makes his body clench down, milking Joe's cock as he moves. It builds with each roll of his hips, that ball of heat that sits low in him, pulsing outwards, moving further and further through him. 

"Nicky, Nicky, Nicky--" His name is dropping from Joe's lips like a mantra, and he can tell Joe is close. He's spent centuries hearing the way Joe's breath hitches when he's about to come, spent centuries pulling those bitten-off moans and soft groans out of his husband.

Nicky's own cock is straining, flushed red and feeling like just the barest touch would be enough to push him over the edge. But he won't touch, can't touch. And even if Joe released his grip on Nicky, he wouldn't move, because he'd rather have that connection their joined hands is giving him. His knuckles whiten as his grip on Joe tightens, anchoring Nicky to the here and now, anchoring him to the man who means more to him than his own life.

Joe's pushing up as Nicky presses down, their bodies moving in tandem towards what they want, what they need. Nicky's entire body feels like it's being lit up from the inside and then Joe pushes once, twice, and the pleasure crashes over him. It's Joe's name on Nicky's lips as he comes, his cock jerking in the air to splatter white onto Joe's t-shirt, to splatter onto that strip of skin that Nicky was so enamoured with earlier.

Nicky's body clamps down as he comes and Joe groans sharply, a single hard thrust upwards as he empties himself into Nicky, liquid heat filling the spaces Joe's cock doesn't.

Still trying to catch his breath, Nicky leans down, pressing his forehead to Joe's. Releasing his grip on Nicky, Joe lifts his hands, carding his fingers through the strands of Nicky's hair as he holds him, tilting his face slightly until he can catch Nicky's lips with his own, cutting off the gasp that escapes as Joe's softening cock slips out of Nicky's body. 

"I think we may need to shower again," Nicky comments, breaking their kiss as he feels Joe's come starting to drip out of him, sliding over his skin to drop onto Joe.

"It can wait," Joe replies, rolling them to their sides and urging Nicky to turn over, to put them in their usual sleeping position. There's a rustle of clothes as Nicky is turning, and he looks over his shoulder to watch Joe wipe at his stomach and groin with the t-shirt that's now in his hand, before he swipes it over Nicky's ass. Nicky shivers as the fabric runs over his still sensitive skin, smiling once Joe deems the clean-up enough and the t-shirt is thrown through the air to land in the doorway to the en suite.

Joe shuffles slightly until his chest is against Nicky's back, heat sinking into Nicky's body as Joe's arm reaches over him.

"Gun?" Nicky asks quietly. Because even here, even safe, Nicky still wants the comfort of knowing that if anyone comes after them, comes after Joe, that he'll be able to stop them before they even take two steps into the room.

"I put it in the usual place under the mattress before you got out of the shower," comes the answer, before a soft kiss is pressed to the back of Nicky's neck. "We can sleep soundly tonight."

Soundly and together, which, if Nicky is honest with himself, was something that he wasn't entirely sure was going to happen ever again when they were strapped down to those tables, parts of them being ripped away due to Merrick's greed, to Booker's betrayal.

Which reminded him--

"Joe?"

"Yes, my love?" The words are heavy, slow, and Nicky doesn't need to look at Joe to know that his eyes are half-closed, already on the verge of sleep taking him.

"Where do you think we could get a trebuchet from?"


End file.
